The Pike's Peak Rush Part 12

There was, and a swash left. The boy in the cart didn't understand.

"Water! Water!" he kept begging, as the Pike's Peak Limited ("limited"

indeed) again toiled on through the monotonous flatness, Harry guessing at the right direction and Terry trudging beside the rear wheels. That incessant cry for "water, water," grew rather annoying. The new boy already had had four cupfuls and probably'd get another! And every cupful counted now. But of course----!

"We must go on as far as we possibly can, before dark," had said Harry.

"Or until we strike water, first."

When would that be? Duke and Jenny were sluggish on their feet, and frequently stumbled as they groaned along with their stringy tongues dangling. It was slow work, and hot work, and awfully thirsty work--Terry wasn't certain that he could hold out much longer without another drink.

"Do we drink again pretty soon?" he stammered.

"I don't think we'd better, do you?" answered Harry, as if trying to speak cheerfully. "We've got to save some for Duke and Jenny, and our pa.s.senger. We can't get him through without them to haul him."

"Tha' so," agreed Terry, his mouth gluey. "Tha.s.so."

"Yesh, tha.s.so," encouraged Harry. "You an' I awright. We unnerstan'.

They don't."

"Water! Water!" babbled the pa.s.senger. His voice was the clearest of any.

Trudge, trudge, creak, creak, over the dry plain, on for that quivering horizon which might contain water but never drew nearer. They did not know where they were going; they probably had pa.s.sed another of the stage station stakes; bushy black Shep was lagging, Duke and Jenny stumbled, Harry limped doggedly, the pa.s.senger pleaded ever more faintly and piteously until Harry, halting abruptly, without a word grimly gave him half a dozen swallows; and when they resumed, Terry had decided that he'd rather have a drink, himself, than all the gold of Pike's Peak.

However, Harry took none; and so he didn't ask for one.

The sun was low, streaming into their faces, and dazzling and blinding.

Soon it would set; soon they must stop; one spot would be as good as another, if they didn't come to water--and just how he was to get through a dry night, following a dry day, Terry could not imagine--did not like to imagine, anyway.

That keg, when Harry had tilted it to give those few swallows to the pa.s.senger, had sounded alarmingly emptier than before. Water evaporated mighty fast on these plains.

Turning a moment, to shut the sun from his tortured eyes, now Terry saw something, quartering behind, on the right, which was the north. What?

Antelope? No; too much dust. Antelope didn't raise such dust. Buffalo, then? More buffalo? Or Indians! No--and a wild hope surged into his heart and strengthened his voice, as he cried, to Harry:

"Harry! Hurrah! There's somebody else--another outfit!"

Harry, who had been plodding on, stopped to gaze; and instantly the exhausted Duke and Jenny stopped.

"Freighters," decided Harry. "Great Scott! Hurrah! Or maybe some of the stage-line people. We'll have to head 'em off and make 'em see us. Come on. Hurrah! Duke! Jenny! Gwan! Water! Water! Barrels of it--gallons of it!"

Duke and Jenny seemed to appreciate--they started gallantly.

"Gee--gee with you, Duke!" bade Harry, hobbling.

"Do you think they _will_ have water?" panted Terry.

"Of course. But we'll have to catch 'em. Duke! Jenny! Hep!"

The dust cloud yonder had resolved itself into quite a large outfit, traveling briskly. There was a herd of animals--mules or horses; and two wagons following, drawn each by four span; and several men afoot, and others horseback.

"They'll have to camp pretty soon. We'll come into 'em, if we keep going," encouraged Harry. And he added, suddenly: "Look at Jenny! She smells water. And so does Duke!"

For both Duke and Jenny were alertly stretching out--sniffing, tugging, trying to increase their pace. They almost trotted. Could they really smell water in barrels, away off there--or did they guess? At any rate, the two routes were drawing together.

The sun sank below the horizon, and a pleasant coolness flowed over the landscape. Now in the twilight the freighter outfit had halted, and bunched. Going to make camp? No--there it started again. Pshaw! But no--some of it had remained: not the wagons, but several of the loose stock, and two men, and a heap of stuff.

"Hurrah!" gasped Harry. "That's enough. Enough for us."

Duke and Jenny were trying to break into a gallop, and their owners had hard work to keep up. The party at the camp had seen them coming, and were pausing in their camp-making to stare. Now at a staggering lope and trot the Pike's Peak Limited fairly charged in--would have run right over the camp had not the two men there rushed out and waved their arms and shouted.

The camp was on the edge of a muddy creek course. That was what ailed Duke and Jenny; only by main force could they be held back.

"What's the matter? Plumb crazed?" scolded one of the men.

"Their critters are plumb crazed, don't you see?" reproved the other.

"Unhook 'em and let 'em go, or they'll drag cart and all in."

Harry hustled, Terry hustled, the men helped--and on sprang Duke and Jenny, into the mud, into the water, to drink, and gulp, and drink again, and stand there, belly deep, soaking. Terry yearned mightily to join them, but Harry was more polite.

"Whar you from? You look nigh tuckered out, yourselves," accused one of the men.

"So we are," gasped Harry. "We're down to our last drop--we've a man aboard the cart who's worse off still--picked him up this morning. But I can't talk till I have a drink."

"Never mind the creek; it's too roily. We've a barrel full." And the other man promptly pa.s.sed over a br.i.m.m.i.n.g dipper. Harry took it; his hand trembled.

"You first, Terry," he said.

Terry shook his head.

"We'll take turns," he proposed. "You drink and then I'll drink."

Ah, but that water, warmish and brackish, was good! Together they emptied the dipper, and at once emptied another--and by this time the two men had lifted the boy from the cart and were attending to him, also. He was too weak to talk, but he seemed to know, and smiled when he likewise had drained a dipper.

"Give him a little broth, later," grunted one of the men. "He had a narrow squeak, I reckon. Mustn't overfeed him. We'll stew him some buff'ler meat. 'Xpec' you fellers are hungry, yourselves, by this time."

"Haven't eaten all day," laughed Harry, in spirits again. "But where are we? We're looking for the stage line, and the Republican."

"You aren't near the Republican yet, by a long shot. But this is a stage station, all right. Fust stages will be through tomorrow and after that two at a time every day, till the trail's well broken. We're part of the supply outfit. It drops some of us off every so far along the line, ahead of the stages, so we'll have meals and lodgin' and a change of mules ready. You needn't do much unpackin'; we've grub enough, and you can bunk with us and put that sick boy in the tent."

"Yes, and the stages'll take him on tomorrow," spoke the other man.

"You'll have to lie by, anyhow. You can't start your critters out till after they've rested a bit. That's a great team you've got--a buffalo and a mule! Where you from?"

"The Big Blue," answered Terry.

"Oh! You're the boys from the Big Blue, are you? You're the ones who spilled Chubbers' whiskey."

So even they knew!

The station agent and his helper were a hospitable pair. Harry volunteered to attend to the cooking while they straightened the camp a little, for the night. The supply wagon had dumped off a tent, a stove, a barrel for water, a bale of hay, bedding, sacks and boxes of provisions, several bunches of fire-wood, etc. The tent was erected, the rescued boy placed inside and given a little broth. He immediately went to sleep.

This was Station Twelve--a dinner station for the stages. The next station, Number Thirteen, about twenty-five miles farther on, was a night station. The stations would average about twenty-five miles apart, through this region, to the diggin's. Farther east, in the settlements, the stations were closer. One hundred stages and a thousand mules would be put on the run, at a cost of $800 a day. The company, Jones & Russell of Leavenworth, already had spent $300,000. The fare from Leavenworth to the mountains was $100 gold, and shorter trips were twenty-five cents a mile. Time to the mountains, twelve days--maybe less when the trail was well broken, and if the Indians didn't bother.